


Confession & Reparations

by mad_martha



Series: Two Households [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two brief sequels to Two Households V: Mortal Flesh</p><p>Confession: Sirius talks to Harry about Ron's involvement in the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>Reparations: Harry tries to apologise to Ginny Weasley - with consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confession

**Author's Note:**

> "Confession" is a short ficlet that occurs towards the end of Two Households V, but wasn't written until later and doesn't really fit the narrative of the main story, hence it originally being posted separately.
> 
> "Reparations" was a short sequel - I did have ideas of expanding it into a sixth chapter of the main story, but that never really happened.
> 
> It seemed sensible to post them both together here.

"Hey," Sirius said quietly, taking a seat in the comfortable wingback chair that Maffy had placed beside Harry's bed.  "I thought you'd be asleep, like Ron."  He grinned.  "Not that anyone could sleep with the racket he's making."

Ron was stretched out on top of the covers a little more than an arm's length from Harry, snoring robustly.

Harry smiled.  "I dunno - I find it kind of soothing."

Sirius gave him a dubious look.  "They say it takes all sorts ....  Are you all right there?  Would you like a drink or anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks." 

"Don't feel like reading?"

"I'm feeling a bit iffy at the moment," Harry admitted.  "Couldn't hold the book."

Sirius reached across and picked the book up.  "I could read to you," he offered.

"Maybe in a while."  Harry glanced at Ron.  "Is he going to be all right?" he asked Sirius.  "I mean - is he going to get into trouble for any of this?"

"Being here with you, you mean?  Or everything?"

Harry managed a tiny shrug.  "Everything, I suppose."

"I don't know," Sirius admitted.  "He won't get in trouble for being here because Dumbledore and his parents know where he is and he's over seventeen.  But the rest of it - well, we have to wait and see.  But I don't think it's likely.  He gave a couple of statements to the Aurors after the two of you were injured in Hogsmeade, and those have been reviewed by members of the High Court already.  If he was going to be arrested, it would have happened by now.  Mind you, those statements are the abbreviated ones that _only_ cover what happened in Hogsmeade, but I don't see what they could charge him with out of the rest of it.  Breaking and entering the Malfoy place, perhaps - "

"Assault?" Harry suggested. 

"What, on young Malfoy?"  Sirius snorted.  "For that to stick Draco would have to admit that someone assaulted him, and from the comments he's made so far you'd be forgiven for thinking that Hallowe'en didn't happen this year!  If he admits that he was attacked by Ron, he admits that Ron was there, and that makes a lie of all his denials.  I think we're safe on that score."

There was a pause.  Harry looked washed out and tired, and rather anxious.

"I dunno why Ron does it," he said unexpectedly.  "It's a lot of shit to take, isn't it?  If you don't have to."

"I think he likes you," Sirius told Harry, straight-faced.

"But what does he get out of it?" Harry asked.  He looked genuinely perplexed, and instead of the flippant answer he'd been going to give him, Sirius paused to consider his reply.

"Like I said - he likes you," he said, more gently.  "He's your friend, and that's a good enough reason for him."

"But he could have died - "

"Would that have stopped you helping him, if it was the other way around?" Sirius asked.

Harry gave him a blank look for a moment, then shook his head.  "That's different."

"How?"  Silence.  "Why would it be okay for you to risk dying for him, but not the other around?"

"Shit happens to me," Harry said.  "It always has.  But Ron didn't have to get involved."

"'Evil requires little to flourish but that good men should do nothing'," Sirius quoted soberly.  "That's a saying that should be carved over every doorway in the Ministry.  Ron's a good man, Harry; he stood up with you because he believed it was the right thing to do, and more than that, because he believed in you.  Don't ever knock it.  Friends like that are rare."

"But he's been looking after me all term," Harry told him.

Sirius smiled.  "I know he has."

Perhaps if he'd been feeling a little less drained, Harry might have jumped on this statement and demanded to know what the hell Sirius meant by it.  But it was hard to drum up the suspicion and indignation necessary for a row when he could barely move a finger.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Sirius considered him for a moment, choosing his words again.  "Dumbledore - the Order - asked Ron to keep an eye on you back in the summer.  Not the way you're thinking," he added quickly, when he saw Harry's expression.  "We asked him to look out for you and be your friend, because we knew it was going to be difficult for you when you went back to school.  Actually, he got a bit cross with us because he said he would be doing that anyway."

Harry seemed to think about this for a while, and it was difficult for Sirius to tell what he was thinking from his expression.

"So he's a member of the Order?" he asked finally in a rather flat tone.

"Only in the same sense that you are," Sirius replied, and he saw Harry's brows twitch up at this.  "We had a long conversation with him," he continued after a moment.  "Arthur and Molly - and Bill for that matter - had a lot of concerns about Ron's involvement with you.  For one thing, it was obvious to everyone, even you, that just by being your friend he was setting himself up as a potential target for Voldemort and his followers.  No one underestimated the danger there, Harry, and there was a lot of debate about the best way to handle the situation.  Nobody wanted to jeopardise your friendship, but equally nobody wanted to be seen by you as interfering even for your own good.  On the other hand, being the one person out of the student body you completely trusted meant that Ron was in a great position to shield you a bit from problems and listen when you needed someone to talk to.  But that's a hell of a burden to place even on a good friend, so we gave him a ... support network to help him.  People he could contact for advice if any problems came up or he just needed to talk.  In the event, that helped when his sister started being nosy - "

"He said he went to McGonagall!" Harry said rather indignantly.  He glanced at Ron, who snored on obliviously.

"He _did_ go to McGonagall," Sirius said, with a slight smile, "and she's a member of the Order.  When he told her his sister was sniffing around you, Minerva called Ginny in and talked to her.  I don't know precisely what was said, but Minerva evidently felt that she couldn't rely on Ginny not to talk about what she'd seen or do it again because she and Dumbledore put a _gaes_ on Ginny - "

"What's that?"

"It's a charm that compels the person to hold their tongue about certain subjects - they literally can't talk about it.  It's a very old and potentially unethical piece of magic," Sirius said soberly.  "In the hands of a powerful and skilled witch or wizard, it can be used a bit like the Imperius Curse - you can place a person under a compulsion to do or say certain things under a certain set of circumstances, and if they try to resist it can be really unpleasant for them.  You hear about it a lot in legends - it originated in the British Isles, especially Ireland, and it was pretty popular before Christianity arrived."

"There's a school of thought that suggests the Imperius Curse was developed out of the _gaes_ ," Remus's voice said, and he walked through from the outer room.  He paused at the foot of the bed and peered at Ron.  "Good man for sawing logs, isn't he?"

"Good man all round," Sirius replied.

"He is."  Remus sat on the end of Harry's bed and crossed his legs under him.  "Anyway - the _gaes_.  There's still quite a lot of magic around that dates back to the pre-Roman cultures in Britain, but about the time Christianity arrived the Classical form of magic started to gain in popularity.  That's a pity, really, because it's quite an inflexible and static form of magic, whereas some of the very old and regional forms of magic are more adaptable.  But that's at least partly because of the insistence on using Classical Latin and Greek for spell-crafting - because they aren't 'living' languages _per se_ they haven't developed at all in hundreds of years, and consequently there's very little room for creative interpretation.  And the reliance on verbal spellcasting is very limiting in itself.  We try to teach our kids to break the habit as they get older, but people who can spellcast silently all the time are few and far between.  Do you remember telling me about the empty classrooms you found at Hogwarts this year?"

Harry nodded.  "Intexometry and Somnology and - "

"And Animation and Cantology, etcetera etcetera," Remus finished for him.  "With the exception of Cantology, do you know what those disciplines all have in common, Harry?  They all rely on unspoken magic.  They aren't Classical magics at all, at their root - they come from earlier tribal-type magics, much in the way that Divination does, and they don't rely on the spoken language so much as the ability to summon and control magic inwardly.  In the case of Animation and Divination, you have to have an inborn gift to start with."

"The _gaes_ was used in ancient Ireland to impose a certain measure of control on otherwise very dangerous and volatile people," Sirius said.  "People who weren't necessarily _bad_ but who couldn't always be relied upon to act rationally in the face of provocation, for example.  You hear a lot about the _gaes_ in legends - people who weren't allowed to eat with their left hand or refuse a dinner invitation or go into battle during a certain phase of the moon.  They usually ignore the _gaes_ by the end of the story and something horrible happens as a result."

"Or the _gaes_ is used to manipulate them and they lose either way," Remus remarked.  "That's a far cry from the _gaes_ Dumbledore used on Ginny Weasley though, which is a more precise and less intrusive means of control than the Imperius Curse.  She would be fully aware of the _gaes_ being in place, although it wouldn't interfere with her day to day life.  It only activates if the subject tries to do something expressly forbidden by it, and as far as I know all it does is deflect the person from the action - make them say something different or physically change direction.  The _gaes_ doesn't hurt a person unless they actively try to defy it - and I would imagine it would take someone extremely strong-minded to do that anyway."

"Ron says Ginny is a right stroppy piece of work," Harry said doubtfully.

Remus glanced at Ron - incredibly, he was still snoring through the conversation - and grinned.  "That sounds like something Ron would say.  However ...."  He looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin.  "She was dragged into Tom Riddle's diary when she first started school, wasn't she?  Perhaps I shouldn't judge her, considering that it _was_ Riddle after all and she was only young, but magics of that kind are known to involve a certain amount of tacit consent on the part of the victim - a subconscious willingness to be controlled.  And the oddest people can be vulnerable to that kind of thing, while people one might think of as being soft targets actually turn out to be astonishingly stubborn and resistant.  I remember Neville Longbottom from my year teaching - terribly shy and timid boy, and yet he had some serious backbone in him underneath."

"It takes that kind of mental resilience to resist the Imperius Curse and learn Occlumency," Sirius noted.  After a moment, he returned to the original topic of conversation.  "Ron agreed to be a member of the Order so that he could help you.  It seemed simpler not to tell you, though, because we knew it might annoy you - might make you think that you were being spied upon or something, which wasn't the case at all.  _Are_ you angry with him for not telling you?"

Harry was silent for a while.  "Why can't people just be honest with me?" he asked finally, sounding very tired.

"What would you have said if he'd sprung it on you that he was a member of the Order?" Remus asked, before Sirius could say anything.

"Seeing as how I got the big lecture about how I was too young and no one who was still at school could be a member, I'd have been pretty pissed off!"  Harry shifted weakly, restless.  "Was Granger in on it as well?"

"No.  Dumbledore was adamant that none of the other kids be involved," Sirius replied.  "He wasn't alone in that - Arthur pointed out that if Hermione was involved and Ginny found out, she'd want to be involved too and he was going to have a hard enough time if Molly found out about Ron.  Not many people knew about Ron anyway.  Mostly it was the teachers."

"I don't think even Snape knew," Remus remarked.  "Far too dangerous for him to be in possession of information like that - it was too important that Voldemort not find out about you and Ron.  Harry, the real goal was to protect Ron.  It's not as though you were suddenly going to stop being friends, so he was already in danger - the idea was to help him _and_ you and in the process make sure there were more protections for you both in place."  He sighed.  "I'm not going to apologise for any of it.  And I'll tell you to your face that I'll think a lot less of you as a person if you blame Ron for it.  He was looking out for you because he's your friend and he loves you, and in the event he took that principle a lot further than any of us would ever have asked him or wanted him to.  He very nearly _died_."

"I know that," Harry muttered.  "I thought we were both going to die."

"So did he.  He told me so when you were in the school infirmary afterwards."

"I didn't want him to die, but I was glad he was with me."  Harry's left hand twisted restlessly in the counterpane.  In a voice barely above a mumble, he added "I always thought I'd be on my own when it happened."

"I'd say that Ron had other ideas about that," Remus noted mildly.

Sirius reached out and squeezed Harry's hand, smiling crookedly.  "Too bad - you're just going to have to live to a ripe old age like the rest of us, and die in your bed, surrounded by your grandchildren."

Harry managed a weak snort.  "Not likely!"

"Surrounded by Ron's grandchildren then," Remus suggested disingenuously.

"No bird's getting her sticky mitts on Ron!" Harry said with as much energy as he could manage.

Ron sniggered, and they all looked at him.  His eyes were still closed.

"Are you awake?" Harry demanded suspiciously.

"No," Ron murmured, and he turned onto his side and started snoring again.

 

 **  
_~ finis ~_   
**


	2. Reparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really quite difficult to write an argument between two people when you strongly sympathise with both sides! It's also quite difficult to write something that makes you squirm with embarrassment on the part of your protagonist - my imagination kept trying to steer me towards less embarrassing solutions. Hopefully I resisted sufficiently. This occurs after Two Households V, when Harry has returned to school; it's written partially in response to my own concerns about a scene in Chapter 9 where Harry discovers Ginny spying upon him and partially to cover the circumstances in which Harry ends up leaving school again, as mentioned in the Epilogue.

Outside the Headmaster's office was an ornate ebony hat stand that Professor Dumbledore's guests could leave their cloaks and umbrellas on while they were visiting.  Finally reaching the top of the revolving staircase that morning (and, not for the first time, thoroughly relieved that it _was_ a moving staircase), Harry Potter considered a familiar lime green bowler hat and pinstriped cloak that were hanging on the stand and wondered if it might not be better if he came back later.  Former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge was not one of his fans.  On the other hand, Harry didn't think he had the energy to make this trip twice.

Resigning himself, he took a seat on the age-blackened wooden bench against the wall and settled to wait, resting his hands and chin on his grandfather's cane.

Five minutes later the stairs sprang into life again and Harry watched as a familiar - and rather unwelcome - redhead spiralled into view; Ginny Weasley.  Great - now he wished he'd gone with his first instinct and gone back to Slytherin.  Ron's little sister definitely wasn't one of his fans either and as it seemed rather unlikely that she was here to join Dumbledore's tête-à-tête with Fudge, they would have to share a bench while they both waited.

She scowled when she saw him, but there was plenty of room on the bench so she took a seat at the other end of it and seemed determined to ignore him.  This suited Harry just fine, and he fell into mindless contemplation of the opposite wall while the minutes ticked past on the clock above the headmaster's door.

Five minutes, ten, and then fifteen passed.  Finally Ginny sighed impatiently and crossed and uncrossed her legs.  Like Harry, she was dressed in ordinary weekend gear, but for the first time he noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was wearing a very familiar outfit - denim jeans and jacket with a green top underneath.  It was the same outfit she had been wearing when he'd caught her spying on him six months previously.

Contrary to popular belief, Harry did possess a conscience; he just didn't indulge it very often.  Undaunted by this neglect, his conscience nevertheless kept sending him little hints in the hope that the odd message would get through, which might explain why Harry felt an uncomfortable twinge when he recognised Ginny's clothes.

He'd had a lecture from Remus about this not so long ago.  By some mysterious means news of the incident with Ginny's underwear had made its way back to his godfather, and Harry had spent nearly an hour in the hot seat as Remus explained to him, in the kind of excruciating terms generally reserved only for the morally deficient and irredeemably thick, why stealing a girl's underwear and leaving her naked in a corridor was something only a particularly nasty sort of pervert did.  (Harry's sole consolation was that he was not alone.  Sirius failed to condemn his actions and got a stiff lecture too.)

The information had also reached Mr. Pettifer, who subjected Harry to a long and very disapproving stare before saying in a frosty tone that he hoped Harry had made suitable "reparations" for his misdeed.  This had annoyed Harry, for while he was grudgingly beginning to accept that he might be in the wrong, he had a fixed principle of never apologising if he could help it and this rubbed rather uncomfortably against the knowledge that he didn't really have many excuses not to.

On one point Remus and Mr. Pettifer differed somewhat.  Mr. Pettifer, old-fashioned soul that he was, felt that under the circumstances (house differences, differences in personal rank, and lack of opportunities generally) a suitably worded letter of apology coupled, perhaps, with a small token such as a box of chocolates, would be sufficient.  Harry liked this idea.  It meant that he didn't have to deal with Ginny directly, and if she rejected his apology (which he rather suspected she might) he would hold the moral high ground.

Remus, who knew Harry only too well, didn't agree.  He said that the apology should be made in person and if Ginny rejected it, Harry would just have to take whatever she dished out like a man.  Sirius, when applied to for an opinion, said that he'd like to be a fly on the wall either way and see Ginny's reaction, a remark which got him exiled to the garden for an hour.

The matter was still unresolved by the time Harry returned to school, and consequently here he was - sharing a bench with her and wondering if he could get away with not saying anything.

She didn't look to be in a good temper.  There had to be a better time to say something.

On the other hand, this was the first time he'd seen her on her own since he'd returned to school.  Trying to apologise in front of a bunch of her friends was ... unthinkable.  It wasn't a matter of courage - the opinion of a bunch of giggling Gryffindor airheads meant less than nothing to him - but a matter of his standing in his own house.  There wasn't a single Slytherin who would believe that debasing himself publicly before a Gryffindor was an appropriate reparation for their leader to make.  For that matter, there weren't many Slytherins who would think he had done anything wrong in the first place.

Of course, there were ways in which Harry could twist a public apology into something infinitely worse than the original humiliation he had inflicted upon Ginny; the incident wasn't general knowledge, after all.  His annoyance at being pressured into apologising at all made this route insidiously attractive to him.  But Harry had a relationship with Ginny's brother which he didn't want to jeopardise, and he had to live with Remus afterwards, so he only seriously contemplated doing this for a few enjoyable minutes.

No, he was going to have to suck in his gut and just apologise to her, and there probably wasn't going to be a better opportunity than this.  Being outside the Headmaster's office would at least minimise any likelihood of shouting or physical violence.  The shouting he didn't mind so much but while he could summon enough energy to defend himself if necessary, it would probably lay him out flat for the rest of the day and he didn't want to miss the Quidditch later.

How did one go about broaching the subject with her though?

"Weasley ...." he began reluctantly.

She interrupted him with a rude snort.  "Merlin!  It _speaks!_ "

Harry's fingers tightened sharply on his stag-headed cane and the curving brass antlers dug painfully into his skin.  Great - she was feeling confrontational.

"Is there something you want to hear me say, then?" he asked, forgetting all about the primary purpose of apologies for the moment.

"Not really," she said coldly.  "I don't expect civilised conversation from Slytherins."  She hadn't looked directly at him yet; anyone, Harry thought uncharitably, could be forgiven for thinking she was trying to pick a fight with Fudge's bowler hat.

And was it him, or was she being deliberately provocative?

"I wasn't trying to start a conversation," Harry said, hanging onto his temper by a thread.

"You can't crib from any of my class notes either; I'm not one of your pathetic sycophants and apologists.  You can do your own work."

Harry wasn't much given to sudden, illuminating bursts of self-awareness, but at this point he had the disconcerting realisation that Ginny's behaviour was actually not unlike his own when he was deliberately trying to wind someone up.  This was not a welcome revelation to him, and he tried to justify it by telling himself that he only used such tactics when his target had become annoying beyond endurance.  And he didn't think he'd done anything to provoke such behaviour from Ginny so far.

"That's fine by me," he said dryly, deciding to turn the tactic back on her.  "I was hoping to pass my exams this year."

He'd always thought that the phrase "her bosom heaved with indignation" was just overblown prose on the novelist's part, so it was interesting to see it actually happen in front of him.  Since Ginny was fairly well endowed in that area it would have been hard for him to miss it; and for the first time she looked directly at him, eyes sparking with anger.  Harry noticed that unlike Ron and Bill, who both had blue eyes, Ginny's eyes were brown.  It seemed like an odd combination to him, with the red hair.

"You're a toe-rag, Potter," she told him bitterly.

"I thought I was a Slytherin ..."

"Same difference!  And you can stop looking at my chest, you disgusting little creep."

"Don't flatter yourself," he retorted, but he was beginning to feel flustered.  So much for good intentions of apologising for his alleged ungentlemanly conduct; before he even had a chance, he was being unfairly accused of eyeing her up as well.  Harry seethed with the injustice of it.

"Being ogled by someone like you isn't flattering!" she flung at him.

"I was wondering whose rolled-up socks you nicked," he explained, offering her a dangerously affable smile.

One of the downsides of being a redhead was the less-than-attractive effect anger or embarrassment had on very fair skin.  Even Ron was inclined to look a bit like he'd been dipped in a cauldron of boiling water on occasion.  Ginny turned a comprehensive scarlet from sheer rage.  For a long moment she was speechless and Harry took his opportunity.

"I reckon you're a miserable cow, Weasley, but I still shouldn't have dumped you without your clothes in a corridor where anyone could find you.  So I'm sorry about that and I swear it won't happen again."

Ginny stared.  "That was _you?_ "

"Well, yeah," Harry said, bemused.  "Who did you think it was?"

She seemed to struggle with the revelation for a moment.  "Malfoy!"

Harry stared at her.  "Malfoy?  Why _Malfoy?_ "

"Because he's Malfoy!" she snapped.  "He's been pulling that kind of crap on the Gryffindors for years - why _wouldn't_ it be him?"

Fair enough.  But - "Why would Malfoy be up on the fourth floor?  You were there before, weren't you?  What made you think it was him and not me?"

"Because I saw him there."

Harry considered this.  Perhaps Ginny hadn't been the only person watching him after all, although he hadn't seen any actual evidence of it before.

"Well, it wasn't him," he said finally.  "It was me."

"Great," Ginny said.  "That's it, then?  You apologise and it's all supposed to be right?"

Harry shrugged.  "I've apologised and I've said it won't happen again.  What more do you want?"

"Some genuine remorse would be nice."

"This is as good as it gets," Harry said, starting to get annoyed.  "I don't normally apologise to anyone!  But I admit I went too far and did something I shouldn't, okay?  It's not going to happen again."

"Why bother apologising when you're not sorry?" she demanded.  "It's meaningless!  You're probably only doing it because somebody said you had to!  Who was it?  Hermione?  I don't need the Head Girl looking out for me, especially since she doesn't care either - she's always on your side!"

 _Ouch._   The barrel was open and the worms were spilling out with a vengeance.  Ginny definitely had things she needed to get off her chest.

"You're joking, right?"  Harry stared at her.  "Granger - on _my_ side?  That's a laugh!  You didn't hear the bollocking she gave me when she found out!  And no, it wasn't her who put me up to it.  People don't put me up to stuff, Weasley.  I do what _I_ want to do!"

"Oh, right!"  The sneer she gave him was pure Snape and really rather impressive.  "I keep forgetting you're Harry Potter the hero, saviour of the magical world!"

"You know what?" Harry said, losing patience entirely.  "Stuff it!  I _don't_ apologise, I'm not sorry, and you'd better watch your back in future.  I don't know why the hell I bothered!  You're a miserable bitch, Weasley."

"Did you expect me to be grateful?" she demanded furiously.  "You come over all _hey, Weasley, it was really me who stole your underwear and left you to get molested by any passing shit, but it's no big deal - want to be friends? -_ and you expect me to grovel at your feet and be thankful?  What planet are you living on, Potter?!  You're a _shit._   Why don't you just be honest and say that you don't give a damn and you'd do it again?"

"You're right!  I don't give a damn and next time I'll happily leave you in a public corridor and sell your knickers to Theo Nott!" Harry snapped back.

"Bastard," she said viciously.  She was trembling.

"That's me," Harry said, although the bitterness in his voice was more for the strength he could feel rapidly draining out of him than for anything she had said.  Arguments were exhausting.

"You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, Potter!"

 _Now_ the bitterness was for her words.  "That's right.  I can't remember the last time I did anything for anybody but me."

"Don't you dare try to make this about You Know Who!"

"You said it, not me.  Besides, you're dead right on that one - I didn't kill him as a favour to the magical world, that's for sure.  The magical world can go stuff itself up its own arse as far as I'm concerned!"

Ginny stared at him in outrage.  "Aren't you telling the wrong audience?" she demanded.  "Shouldn't you be in the Headmaster's office, telling Mr. Fudge how you really feel?"

"I already _have_ told Fudge," Harry said.  "Several times.  And the rest of the Wizengamot.  They seem to think I was being stroppy and teenaged, but I suppose they can be forgiven for that because they haven't met _you_ , have they?"

" _Fuck_ you, Potter!"

"In your dreams, Weasley!"

The Headmaster's door opened with a _clunk_ and Ginny, who was poised to storm off, froze in a half-seated position with a tiny gasp.  Cornelius Fudge, looking rather faded and diminished since being forced out of the office of Minister for Magic, emerged with Professor Dumbledore a step behind him.

"Well ... good day, Dumbledore," he said, gathering up his cloak and bowler hat.  Then he paused and blinked at the two teenagers in mild surprise.

Harry, too exhausted to move, pinned his usual blank expression on his face but for Ginny this was too much.  Muttering an incoherent apology, she fled down the revolving staircase. 

"Good day, Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly, recalling the former Minister's attention before he and Harry could do more than exchange resentful glowers.  Fudge grunted an acknowledgement, set his bowler on his head and trudged down the stairs in Ginny's wake.

Quiet.  Then Dumbledore sighed a little and walked over to Harry.

"Well, Harry - I suppose it would be too much to hope that Miss Weasley confided to you her reason for being outside my office?" he asked mildly.  He nodded when Harry shook his head.  "I thought not.  No doubt she will return in due course if the matter is important.  In the meantime ...."  He sat down on the bench next to Harry.  "How may I help you, dear boy?"

To Harry's acute frustration, he found he couldn't remember why he'd made the effort to visit the Headmaster in his office.  This kind of memory lapse sometimes happened when his strength gave out; it was one of the more annoying and upsetting side-effects of his continuing illness.  He gritted his teeth against the equally familiar fear and despair that gripped him, and shook his head again, not trusting himself to actually speak for a moment.

"I am always happy to see you, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, understanding.  "It's very pleasant to sit here quietly with a friend, as a change from doing the headmasterly things my office requires of me."

Harry found his voice; a hoarse whisper, but better than nothing.  "Sorry, Sir."

"Not at all.  These things happen."

Harry was very fed up of them happening to _him_ , but Dumbledore already knew that.  Like a number of the teachers, Dumbledore knew an awful lot more about Harry's current health problems than Harry himself was entirely comfortable with.  That it was necessary didn't really help.  Sometimes Harry felt that the humiliations of his illness were far worse than the physical symptoms.

"Miss Weasley seemed rather upset," Dumbledore probed gently after a moment or two.

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bench, leaning his head back against the stone wall.  "Too much to hope it'll put her off her game later, I s'pose," he muttered.

Dumbledore chuckled softly.  "No.  She will win simply to spite you."

Harry had rather suspected that Dumbledore guessed something of what had been going on outside his office, and this confirmed it.

"I'm never going to try to apologise to anyone again," he said, possibly more vehemently than was wise, for the room began to spin.  He closed his eyes.

"Quite so," the Headmaster replied, unperturbed.  "I generally find it better to _do_ \- or not do.  _Trying_ only frustrates both parties."

Hm.  Harry decided not to open an eye.  He was absolutely certain that seeing Dumbledore's expression wouldn't help him at all, and seeing two or more of him would be even worse.

"I didn't want to apologise to her anyway," he said grumpily.  "I'm not sorry I did it.  Not really."

"Then apologising would be prevarication, would it not?  And you are not an inveterate liar in my experience."

"I don't lie unless I have to."

"Indeed.  Tell me, Harry - which is the greater sin?  The original crime or the empty act of contrition afterwards?"

Harry didn't have to think about this.  "The fake apology.  It's adding insult to injury."

"Just so.  I confess myself surprised that you made the attempt.  It's not like you, dear boy."

"Mr. Pettifer and Remus wouldn't stop going on about it - "

"Ah!"  Dumbledore surprised Harry by sounding amused. 

He risked cracking an eye open and saw that the Headmaster's eyes were twinkling.  "Sir?"

"You shouldn't allow your own best judgement to be overborne by the wishes of others, Harry," Dumbledore told him.  "I think I may safely speak for Petuarius and Remus on this occasion and explain that when they wish you to apologise to someone - like Miss Weasley - they most certainly intend that you should offer _genuine_ apologies, not lip-service to the act.  If you truly cannot express meaningful remorse then I doubt they would wish you to make the attempt."

Harry relaxed a little.

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore continued gently, "that's not to say that no reparations should be made.  Your actions were inappropriate and an unacceptable injury to Miss Weasley's dignity occurred.  Worse, she could inadvertently have suffered more than humiliation as a result of your actions.  So it would be appropriate for you to make a suitable gesture that acknowledges this and satisfies her righteous sense of outrage.  Yes?"

Harry wasn't sure he followed this reasoning.  It sounded like Dumbledore was saying he should still apologise.

"What do you want me to do, Sir?" he asked warily.

"I don't _want_ you to do anything, Harry.  This is not about what I want.  I am merely offering a suggestion for your consideration."

"Okay …."

"The part of this incident which most concerns those who know of it, most particularly Miss Weasley herself and the Head Girl, Miss Granger, is the inappropriateness of the action you took and the potential consequences arising from it.  I'm sure I need not explain why."

No, he didn't need to explain why.  Anything could have happened to Ginny while she lay naked and Stunned in that corridor, and even Harry hadn't wanted or intended her to suffer more than the initial humiliation.

"I would suggest," Dumbledore continued after a moment, "that under the circumstances an apology is not what is needed here.  Rather, your most earnest assurances that you will never resort to such an act again would be more appropriate."

"I already told her it wouldn't happen again," Harry said.

"But you did not give your word on it as a Potter," Dumbledore pointed out.  "You did not make it clear that you understood the heinousness of what you did and you did not give her explicit assurances that you would never again perpetrate such an act, against her or any other female."

Harry digested this.  It wasn't a very palatable idea, on the face of it; he didn't like having to give absolute assurances about things, because in his experience life wasn't about absolute situations.  On the other hand, he supposed that it wasn't an unreasonable pledge to be asked to make.  He couldn't really think of a circumstance that would justify deliberately and premeditatedly doing something like that again.

"All right," he said grudgingly, "though I don't reckon she'll ever let me near enough to say it."

"I would be honoured to act as a facilitator in this situation," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly.  "There is one other small detail."

Of course there was.  Harry rolled his eyes towards the Headmaster and waited.

"It is customary when offering a formal guarantee of this kind to have suitable witnesses in attendance."

Oh, bloody _hell_.

"Who?" Harry asked, resigned.  Clearly an act of reparation for humiliating someone required that he should be humiliated in his turn.

Dumbledore thought about this for a moment.  "As you are an adult and acknowledged _paterfamilias_ , I think it unnecessary to involve your godparents or trustees.  Under the circumstances, I believe the Head Boy and Head Girl might be the most appropriate witnesses.  Mr. Goldstein comes from a First Family himself and Miss Granger is a confidante of Miss Weasley."

It could have been a lot worse, but Harry still viewed this with dismay.  He didn't consider himself to have a lot of pride and under most circumstances he would have refuted any suggestion that he cared about the Head Boy's opinion of him.  Unfortunately, it seemed that he _did_ care on some level, for he didn't much like the idea of Tony hearing about the incident with Ginny and witnessing Harry making an explicit verbal pledge not to do something like it again.  He didn't like the idea that Tony might view him as some kind of nasty little pervert, on a par with Theodore Nott and his unsavoury money-making enterprises.  Why it should matter, he didn't know, but it stung almost as much as it had when Hermione, Remus and Mr. Pettifer had, in their various ways, made it brutally clear just how unacceptable his actions had been.

"Does it have to be Tony?" he asked.

"You would prefer someone else - Mr. Zabini perhaps?"

Blaise would be even worse.  He was a far greater stickler for rank and propriety than Tony was, and he had pretty strong ideas on the correct behaviour of Slytherins (and, more importantly, the behaviour of the Slytherin 'king').  Whether he would disapprove of the original act Harry couldn't guess, but he would certainly reject the notion that Harry had to abase himself in front of Ginny Weasley because of it.

"No … Tony'll be fine," he said with a sigh.

"No one is perfect, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, apparently reading his mind as usual.  "Not even our excellent Head Boy.  These accidents of judgement occur during our youth precisely so that we might learn from them - indeed, I believe it was why adolescence was invented."

xXx

Gryffindor did win against Slytherin that afternoon, although by a very slender margin and only after fighting for the win every inch of the way.  After hours of slugging it out Slytherin's reserve Seeker, Rosamund Melchett, caught the Snitch at a point where they were left a mere twenty points behind, leaving them still in the running for the cup.  A lot would depend upon the next game, which was against Ravenclaw, but it was a pretty good team. 

Harry had that satisfaction at least.  But like many things for him these days, it was a pretty small one.

He told himself that he wouldn't worry about when or how Dumbledore would set up his next confrontation with Ginny - for he had no doubts that it would be a confrontation - although it persisted in nagging at him every time he set eyes on Hermione or Tony.  This happened with a greater frequency these days as they were part of a small group of people who had decided that House loyalties and Harry's own reserve were not good enough reasons not to inflict their company upon him whether he wanted it or not.

Unless Harry chose to study in his own common room, running the risk of being at the mercy of every junior Slytherin who wanted his help and/or advice, he usually found himself part of a cross-house group in the library.  The names varied but Ron was a constant, as was Hermione, and usually they hadn't been settled at a table for more than ten minutes before people like Tony Goldstein, Amy Snodgrass or Luna Lovegood would join them.  Frequently it was Blaise and sometimes Millicent Bulstrode, Susan Bones or Hannah Abbot.  Ernie Macmillan surprised everyone - and possibly himself - by occasionally joining in.  Terry Boot was another. 

Harry was bemused as to why they would all want to do this, much as he was bemused as to why many of them seemed keen to help him catch up with his lessons.  Ron told him that it was because they were his friends, which confused Harry even more. 

"I'm not their friend," he said, making Ron grin and shake his head.

"You'll get it one day, mate," he said, leaving Harry more perplexed than ever.

 _What am I missing?_ he wanted to ask, but didn't because he suspected the answer would not enlighten him.

Whatever the reason behind them, while the gestures were undoubtedly well-meant they were ultimately futile.  Catching up with his lessons was an uphill battle and while some days Harry felt like he was starting to get on top of things, those moments were counterbalanced by his frequent bouts of illness where any gains he made slipped away from him again.  He didn't expect to be in a position to take his NEWTs in June with the rest of his classmates, but he had hoped to sit them with the re-take candidates in September.  His teachers continued to encourage him in this goal, but privately Harry was beginning to suspect (somewhere at the back of his mind, where he didn't have to examine it too closely) that it wasn't going to happen, no matter how hard he tried.  It didn't matter how many notes other people took for him when he was unable to attend class; it was no substitute for actually doing the work himself.  And no amount of bookwork was a substitute for actual spellcasting. 

Harry had the magical power in abundance and he had the discipline to use it, but what he didn't have, at least at present, was the physical stamina to back it up.  He had given up Divination when he returned to school; although a sedentary class, it was an expensive luxury in terms of workload.  (Apparently Professor Dumbledore had quite a scene with Professor Trelawney when she was told, for she seemed to feel that Harry needed her 'spiritual guidance' now more than ever.)  However, he had double Transfiguration on Monday morning and double Potions on Tuesday morning, both sessions of which were almost guaranteed to flatten him for the rest of the day.  So his timetable was revised and Harry now took double Herbology with Ron's class on Wednesday mornings, instead of the single sessions on Monday and Tuesday afternoon.  Providing this wasn't too strenuous, he was usually fit to take a single session of Transfiguration on Wednesday afternoon.

It had been suggested that he should drop Defence Against the Dark Arts as well, but Harry was determined to finish this subject no matter what his personal feelings were about the skill of the teacher.  So Thursday was left untouched, with a single session of Herbology in the morning and double DADA in the afternoon.  That left Friday as a clear morning with a single of Potions directly after lunch, and then he joined Ron's class for another single of DADA after that. 

This timetable should have been balanced enough for Harry to manage without too much difficulty, but what no one could have predicted was the wave of minor ailments that he would fall victim to as soon as he returned.  His weakened constitution was susceptible to every cough and sniffle going around and this invariably meant a couple of days in the infirmary, for the usual cure - a hefty dose of Pepper-Up Potion - was too scourging upon his still-sensitive stomach to be risked.  Every day in the infirmary meant more classes missed and more homework to catch up on. 

A weaker personality would have despaired, but Harry knuckled down grimly and pushed his strength to its limits.  He had no idea if it would be enough, but he had to try.

"DADA notes," Ron said one Tuesday evening, and he pushed a rolled up sheet of parchment across the library table to Harry.  "It's Hermione's, not mine - I spilled something on mine and need to re-write it.  Her writing's neater anyway."

"Thanks," Harry said, drawing it towards him to look at. 

It was always difficult to say whose notes he preferred as crib-sheets - Ron's were a lot more concise and easier to read, generally, but Hermione was definitely a girl with a grasp of detail.  At least he wasn't desperately behind with DADA and Professor Dodderell was an easy-going teacher.  Transfiguration, on the other hand, was going to be a mess.  Harry was already two essays behind on that one and while Professor McGonagall was being exceptionally lenient and understanding, Transfiguration wasn't something he could afford to fall behind on.  The class simply moved on too quickly at NEWT level.  Ditto for Potions, and Snape was _not_ being lenient and understanding about how behind Harry was getting with his work; it was worse than that, he was simply ignoring Harry's struggles and showed no interest in whether the essays were submitted or not.  While this was not entirely unexpected, it upset Harry more than he was willing to admit even to Ron.

He was struggling with a Potions essay now - fortunately the most recent one, although it had been due that morning and Harry was now trying to get it done for the Friday class.  He had an Herbology workbook due to be submitted the following morning and it would have been nice to get even one of his Transfiguration essays finished for the afternoon.  Hermione and Amy had suggested that he write an outline for each essay which could be submitted to Professor McGonagall in advance (there was no point in trying this approach with Snape) and then divide the essay into more manageable sections and submit each section as he completed it.  This approach helped … a little.

Harry wished he wasn't so tired; for the first time in his life he understood the saying "bone-deep exhaustion".  In theory he could sleep through the periods directly after lunch on Monday and Tuesday, but worries about his school work made that difficult, and in any case his housemates didn't always make resting in the dormitory possible.  Although Slytherin had calmed down a little after he returned to school and the bulk of the house was still behind him as "king", there were inevitably one or two people still fomenting trouble.  Peter Lilywhite had apparently not yet learned his lesson, despite now being regularly hexed by members of every house, including his own.  And Theodore Nott, who had gone home for the funerals and trials of a couple of members of his family, had returned around the same time as Harry with an even bigger chip on his shoulder.  Harry shared a dormitory with Nott; when he'd returned to school he'd been offered the separate prefect's room that Blaise had turned down at the beginning of the school year, and now he was really wishing he'd accepted it.

There was a quiet bustle of arrival and Hermione and Tony slipped onto the bench on either side of him.

"Hey," Tony said, sliding his bulging book-bag onto the table.  "Can we have a word?"

"Can I stop you?" Harry asked reflexively.  But he put his quill down with relief and sat back.  His eyes ached and so did his back.

"We've just been to the Headmaster's office," Hermione said, then she paused and eyed him narrowly.  "Are you feeling all right?  You look exhausted."

"That's because I _feel_ exhausted."  To Harry's annoyance she reached out and touched his forehead.  "Granger!"

"You're a bit warm," she reported, frowning.

"That's because it's hot in here."  It wasn't, or not that Harry had noticed, although Ron had stripped off his robe and sweater as soon as he arrived.  "What do you want?  I'm trying to finish an essay."

"Professor Dumbledore's been trying to arrange a certain meeting between you and Ginny Weasley," Tony said, raising his brows meaningfully.

Ron looked up.  "With Ginny?  What for?"

"Apparently Harry has to apologise for something that happened back in the autumn," Tony replied.  He grinned at Harry and tsked.  "Naughty, naughty!"

"I'm not apologising," Harry retorted, disregarding this.  "I tried already and she wasn't having it."

"Really?"  Ron looked mildly surprised.  "You didn't tell me!"

Harry shrugged.  "What's to tell?  I tried to say sorry and she blew her wig off.  End of story."

"Apparently not," Hermione said dryly. 

"What do you mean, Dumbledore's been _trying_ to arrange a meeting?" Ron asked Tony with a frown.  "Dumbledore doesn't _try_ anything."

"Your sister's being difficult," Tony replied.  "Harry, did you really agree to give a formal pledge not to do it again?"

"Dumbledore's idea," Harry replied.

"Huh.  Seems a bit extreme to me - "

"We could Stun _you_ , strip you naked and leave you in a corridor, if you like," Hermione said sharply.  "We could see how extreme you think it is then!"

Harry grinned in spite of himself, then caught Ron's challenging eye and quickly killed the smirk.  Apparently the image of Tony naked was a bad one, although that had not been what Harry was grinning at.  Not really.

"I'll pass," Tony said, although he looked as though he was fighting a grin too.

"Ginny's been very reluctant to agree," Hermione continued in a disapproving tone.  "She doesn't think it's enough."

"What does she want?" Ron demanded.

"She wants Harry to say it in front of the whole school."

"Not happening," Harry said flatly.  "Not unless she wants me to really go to town and make something of it.  I can do _that_ with pleasure."

"Yes, well, Professor Dumbledore told her that people only do things like that when they're signing non-aggression pacts with foreign nations," Hermione said irritably.  "And I have to say, Ron, I love Ginny but at the moment she's - "

"Completely barking," Ron finished for her.  "Tell me about it."

"I thought she was just really pissed off," Harry remarked, mildly surprised.  "She's mostly got the upper hand, so why shouldn't she try her luck?"  The others looked at him, bemused.  "If I was her, I would have waited for a good opportunity and hexed my clothes off in front of people - something like that.  It'd be the same charm I used on her," he clarified.

Ron grinned and shook his head.  "So what you're saying is she's doing what _you'd_ do if it was the other way around," he translated.

"Well, yeah - if someone was asking me to accept an apology or something and I didn't want to, then I'd probably be making it as difficult as possible, too."

"Nobody suggest to her that she hexes Harry's clothes off," Tony said humorously.  "I think she's in the mood to try it."

"She can if she likes," Harry said tiredly.  "S'not like anyone's going to get much of a thrill right now from seeing me without my kit on."  Aside from being as thin as a rail, he was still covered with barely-healed scars.

"She'd better not," Ron said.

"She's not that stupid," Hermione said.  "She knows perfectly well that no one would sympathise with her if she did something like that.  She wants you to publicly humiliate yourself."

"Does she have any idea what I consider humiliating?" Harry demanded.  "Standing up in front of the whole school and admitting I nicked her underwear is pathetic.  I'm not going to lose sleep over that.  It's a hell of a lot more humiliating not being able to walk without a stick and having to take naps in the afternoon!"

"What's Dumbledore going to do?" Ron asked, after a moment.

"He got her to agree to the formal pledge," Tony said.  "I don't know if that'll really satisfy her, but the Headmaster says he'll consider the matter closed then and personally I think she'd be silly not to accept it.  If she tries anything afterwards, there'll be big trouble."

"Somehow I don't think that'll stop her," Harry said dryly.

 

xXx

 

The odd thing was that Harry didn't really feel any ill-will towards Ginny.  He understood revenge and the desire to perpetrate it and, as he'd pointed out to the others, she was only doing what he would have done if the situation was reversed - perhaps rather more inexpertly than him, but she was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin.  Artistic revenge took practice.  He didn't _like_ her any the better for it, but the list of people Harry didn't like was an extensive one and so this was not an unusual detail.

What did annoy him was the time it all took.  Time was his enemy these days. 

On the appointed evening he did as he was asked and made his way to the Headmaster's office, hoping all the while that there would be no hitches or dramas and the business could be concluded promptly.  For all that he had work coming out of his ears, tonight all he wanted to do was slip away to bed and sleep.  The chicken soup at dinner, lovingly prepared by the school house-elves just for him to a recipe dictated by his healer, had tasted all wrong, his stomach was unsettled, his head ached and he felt hot all over.  Harry guessed that he was coming down with another infection, but he resolutely hoped that a good night's sleep might yet stave it off.

He trudged from the top of Dumbledore's revolving staircase to the office door and was just raising his hand to knock when he became aware of raised voices inside.  He hesitated, then knocked anyway.  The door was opened by Dumbledore himself with startling abruptness.

"Ah - Harry!"  To Harry's astonishment, the Headmaster clasped his shoulders and peered at his face narrowly.  "My boy, are you feeling quite well?"

"Sir?"  Harry blinked at him.  "Um ... I'm okay I think ...."

"Hm."  Dumbledore glanced back over his shoulder.  "Mr. Weasley!"

Ron appeared, looking red about the ears and angry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked him, bewildered.

"Harry, Ronald is going to accompany you to the hospital wing.  Mr. Weasley, please take this note with you and give it to Madam Pomfrey.  Tell her that she may contact me if she requires more information."

"What's going on?" Harry asked rather plaintively, as they made their way along the corridors to Madam Pomfrey's domain.

"It's all right, mate."  Ron offered him an unconvincing smile.  "My sister's lost her mind, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey first."

Harry considered digging his heels in and refusing to go any further until Ron answered the question, but he really wasn't feeling up to an argument.  Besides, the knowledge that this had something to do with Ginny told him all he needed to know.  Apparently he had been right; she wasn't satisfied with doing things Dumbledore's way.

By the time they reached the hospital wing, Harry was feeling very unwell indeed and uncharacteristically he put up no resistance at all at being ushered to a bed and instructed to put on a pair of striped infirmary pyjamas.  The only hitch to this rather welcome programme was the sudden and violent urge to be sick; he retched miserably over a basin for several minutes, mortified and grateful by turns at Ron's supportive presence.

Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey had read the Headmaster's note and was muttering furiously under her breath as she examined Harry with her wand.  When the bout of vomiting seemed to have passed, she and Ron helped Harry into the bed and the nurse tucked him in with a firm hand.  She administered a stiff dose of a thick, white, chalky potion which was almost worse than the sickness it was supposed to prevent, and told him sternly to try and get some sleep. 

Harry was only too happy to comply, although not before he'd got an explanation from Ron.

"What's going on?" he asked, resisting the lure of a soft pillow with some difficulty.

"Like I said, Ginny lost her mind," Ron replied, but he sounded almost as tired as Harry felt.  "Don't worry about it, okay?"

"I _am_ worrying about it," Harry retorted weakly.  "I'm in the infirmary!  What did she do?"

"I don't know that she _did_ do anything," Ron replied evasively. 

It seemed unlikely to Harry that everyone would be making such a fuss over nothing.  He gave Ron an old-fashioned look which the other boy met a little defiantly.

"Look, you remember that owl Sirius gave me after they caught Peter Pettigrew?" Ron said finally.  "Stupid thing latched onto Ginny instead, so she ended up keeping it."

"I remember," Harry replied.  "She called it Pig-something, didn't she?"

"Pigwidgeon."  Ron nodded slightly, making a face.  "That's it.  Well, he's stupid, like I said, and sometimes when he's carrying mail he forgets he's Ginny's owl and brings stuff to me.Not all the time, just occasionally."




"Right," Harry said, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"So I went back to the dorm after dinner and he tried to deliver a packet to me.  Did deliver it," Ron corrected himself.  "And I was tired and didn't think, and I opened it.  It was from the twins to Ginny."

"Yeah?  So what was it?"

"A packet of stuff - don't know what - and a note to Ginny saying _Did it work?  Here's some more in case you need to give him a second dose._ "

Harry was exhausted; it took a while for the significance of this to sink in.  Then:

"She gave me something to make me ill?"

Then he realised that the tired look on Ron's face was nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

"I don't know," Ron admitted.  "She said she didn't, but I … couldn't be sure.  So I had to tell McGonagall.  And you're ill, so it looks like maybe she did."

He should have been angry about it.  After all, he had enough health problems without someone deliberately trying to make him sick on top of that.  But seeing the look on Ron's face, which Harry only partially understood but knew enough to recognise involved distress and betrayal, he couldn't actually feel anything other than a sinking sensation.

"It's okay," he told Ron.

"No, it isn't," Ron replied flatly, and there was nothing Harry could say to that.

xXx

"There's nothing in Potter's system to suggest that he's been the victim of an ill-considered prank," Madam Pomfrey said.  Her head was sitting in the Headmaster's fireplace.  "I suppose it's possible that whatever the substance is was designed to give him gastroenteritis but you'll have to get Professor Snape's opinion on that, Headmaster.  All I can tell you is that Potter definitely has an infection and it's probably been brewing for a few days.  He'll be staying in the hospital wing until further notice."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said soberly.  "Please keep me informed."  The matron's head disappeared from the green flames with a _pop_ and he turned back to the group sitting before his desk.  "Miss Weasley, what was your brothers' concoction intended to achieve when it was administered to Harry?"

Ginny was as white as a ghost.  "It was meant to give him diarrhoea and sickness," she said in a shaky voice.  "But I didn't give him anything, Professor, I swear.  I flushed the packet down the toilet."

"Why would your brothers send you such a thing?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring this.

"Because … I asked them to.  But I decided not to use it!"

"Miss _Weasley_ ," Professor McGonagall said.  She made a soft sound of disgust under her breath and shook her head.  "What in the world were you _thinking?_   Mr. Potter's health is already very fragile - did it not occur to you how dangerous such a substance could be to him?  What did you hope to achieve by it?"

"I hoped he'd have to be sent home."  For a moment Ginny's lip quivered, but she managed to force it back under her control.  "He shouldn't be here if he's so ill!" she burst out defiantly.

"And it would, I suppose, be a fitting revenge for the hurt he perpetrated upon you," Dumbledore said quietly.

For a moment their eyes met, and Ginny knew that he wasn't referring to the incident where Harry had stolen her clothes, or not entirely at any rate.  Just as they both knew that it wasn't the whole reason behind her anger and resentment at all.

"If this matter were to come to the attention of the Aurors, the twins could be prosecuted," Dumbledore continued after a moment.  "Are you aware of that?"

"It's part of their range!" Ginny protested.  "Anyone can buy it - "

"The note Ronald gave to me indicates that they knew the purpose to which you intended to put the substance, and actively colluded with you by providing it regardless.  If Harry's illness proves to be the result of the powder being administered to him, you could be charged with Actual Bodily Harm and your brothers with being accessories to the act."  Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his spectacles.  "You could all three of you be given three months in Azkaban, Miss Weasley.  Do you now understand the severity of the situation?"

"For playing a joke?" Ginny said, aghast.

"For committing a dangerous and potentially life-threatening attack upon a fellow pupil," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "This isn't a joke, Miss Weasley!  You went out of your way to procure a substance which you knew would cause a violent digestive upset, with the intention of administering it to a young man whose constitution you know full well to be sickly and vulnerable at present.  But committing such an act upon anyone would be reckless endangerment and would have thoroughly unpleasant consequences for you if your victim chose to press charges.  I'm _ashamed_ of you, Miss Weasley!  Whatever possessed you?  No matter what grievance you hold against Mr. Potter, was _this_ the best way of resolving it?"

"I didn't do it, Professor," Ginny said, but her tone sounded hollow even to herself.

"Let us hope not," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, still regarding her over the top of his spectacles.  "Needless to say, this puts an entirely different complexion upon the meeting I had arranged between you and Harry, especially in the light of your own resistance to it.  I would like you to think about that a little, Miss Weasley.  In the meantime we must wait upon the results of the tests Professor Snape is conducting."

 

xXx

 

The next twenty-four hours were miserable ones for Harry.  None of the usual remedies Madam Pomfrey used were safe for him at present, so he was given mild potions to try to line and soothe his stomach (he mostly vomited them up) and fluids on a drip to prevent dehydration.  His discomfort prevented him sleeping more than fitfully, so by the time the worst of the sickness was over he was exhausted and only too willing to sleep for as long as anyone would let him.

When he finally awoke fully, he wasn't alone.

They stared at each other for a while.

"I didn't do it," Ginny said finally.

"Yeah?"  Harry didn't really care.  He wondered why she was there.

"Professor Snape proved it.  You caught a bug somewhere."

"It happens."  Silence.  "Why are you here?"

"I'm not sorry," Ginny said defiantly.

"If you didn't do it, why would you be?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I nearly did it.  I had the charms worked out for getting it into your lunch.  You wouldn't have tasted it - Fred and George are good at that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I've heard they're good at hurting people," Harry said.

Anger flashed into her eyes; he watched, feeling little more than a dull curiosity.  Her anger seemed petty and inconsequential after everything he had been through over the last six months.

"So what stopped you doing it?" he asked.

"I'm not you," Ginny said.

"What makes you think I would have done it?"

"It's the kind of thing you do, Potter."

"It isn't."  Harry sighed faintly.  "Stop beating around the bush, Weasley.  If you really thought that was something I'd do, you would have gone ahead and done it.  So what do you want?  I'm tired."

"It's all about you, isn't it?"

"Is it?"  Harry wondered if the alarm above his bed would go off if he faked a collapse.  He wanted her to leave.  "Look, I don't know what your problem is.  I admit that I did something to you that I shouldn't have.  But you shouldn't have been sneaking around after me - "

"I'm a prefect!" Ginny snapped.  "And I didn't know it was you!"

"Great."  Harry had had time to think about this and was no longer convinced by her earlier explanation.  "Why didn't you report it, then, instead of hacking through all my wards and lying in wait?"  He watched her face change.  "You said you thought I was Malfoy.  Is that true?"  When she said nothing Harry felt a tickle of familiar, unfunny laughter.  "That's interesting.  You keep going on about you being a Gryffindor and me being a Slytherin, but you're the one lying."

"I wasn't following you because it was you," Ginny muttered, but the words held no conviction.

"You know what?  I don't care why you did it," Harry said wearily.  And he really didn't.  He thought he had an idea why she'd done it and he didn't want confirmation of his guess.

"Why not?"  Now she sounded offended.

"Were you spying for Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"No, of course not!  What kind of question is that?"

"It's the only kind of answer I care about.  I don't give a shit if it was just you trying to dig up some dirt on me so you could drop me in it," he said flatly.  He didn't think that was true, and they both knew it, but Ginny seized on the suggestion with obvious relief and nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"So - are we even now?" he asked.

Ginny lifted her chin slightly.  "I'm still not sorry, Potter."

"Good.  Neither am I.  I got sick anyway, even though it wasn't you who did it, so you should be happy.  Are we even?"

"I suppose," she muttered.

"And I know the witnesses aren't here or anything, but you have my word as a Potter that I won't ever do anything again to sexually humiliate you or any other woman.  Okay?"

Ginny gave him a strange look.  "Just like that?"

Harry sighed.  "You probably won't believe this, but I'm not a pervert.  I didn't do it to get a look at your tits."

"Actually, I do believe it.  I've heard rumours about you recently," she commented, with a disdainful sniff.

"I'll bet."  Harry closed his eyes.  "Just for the record, they're all true."

There was a long silence.  Harry wondered if she'd left, but when he opened his eyes again she was still there.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"I'm not a prefect anymore," she said sullenly.

"You were planning to poison somebody," Harry said, although not entirely unkindly.  Since her intended victim had been him he was more inclined to be generous about it than he would have been had it been someone else, someone he was fond of.  Someone like Ron.  "You're lucky you didn't get suspended or expelled."  He paused, watching her face.  "Who did they put in your place?"

"Romilda Vane," Ginny said, and she wasn't quite able to hide her chagrin.

"That bites," Harry acknowledged.  He had some passing acquaintance with Romilda Vane, who was a friend of a friend of Amy's.  He'd also heard a few things about her from other sources, and wondered if it was worth offering Ginny an olive branch - for the sake of family harmony, he told himself.  "There are better people."

"So what?  Professor McGonagall gave _her_ the badge."

"So Vane'll trip up.  Her mate, that blonde girl from Hufflepuff, has got a thing going on with Cornfoot of Ravenclaw.  They shag in the tool store at the back of Greenhouse Six and Vane sells peeks through a hole in the window."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief.  "How on earth do you know that?  And what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Isn't important how I know, and it's up to you what you do with the information.  I'm just saying."  Harry closed his eyes again.  After a minute or two he heard the creak of the chair as she got up.  "Weasley?"

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry cracked an eye open to look at her; she was standing at the edge of the screens, poised to leave, and every line of her body was defensive.

"About the twins," he said.

Her expression darkened.  "What about them?"

"Why do you hang around with them?" he asked.

"Who else would I hang around with?  They're my brothers," she said.  "Besides, they're fun … and they listen to me."

"And why do you reckon that is?" Harry persisted, although he wondered why he was bothering.  Her expression was not receptive. 

She shrugged.  "Why wouldn't they?"

"They're not nice people," Harry told her bluntly.  "They talk a good game, but talk's cheap and it'd be a whole lot smarter if you stopped listening to them and starting looking at the stuff they do instead.  They don't do anything for anyone out of the goodness of their hearts and as far as I can tell they only really care about each other.  A lot of the stuff they do isn't funny, and some of it's cruel and bloody dangerous.  How long do you think it'll be before they have a run in with the MLE?"

"They're cleverer than that," Ginny said scornfully.

"And that's a good thing?"

"What's your point?" she demanded.

"I shouldn't have to tell you what my point is," Harry said tiredly.  "But here's some advice for free: you have other brothers.  Okay?  Ones who probably actually care about you.  Fred and George aren't good people, Ginny - take it from someone who knows a bit about it."

"They're Gryffindors," she said.

"So was the bloke who betrayed my parents to Voldemort," he retorted.  "Houses mean sod-all once you're out of school.  But I can tell you're not interested, so forget it.  We're done."

He turned away from her and closed his eyes again, but it was nearly a full minute before he heard her leave.

 

xXx

 

Two days later, Madam Pomfrey requested a senior level staff meeting.

"We have the beginnings of what may become an influenza epidemic," she reported.  "While I don't want to be alarmist, young Hobbart from Ravenclaw brought the infection back with him from his grandfather's funeral and now I have five lower year pupils in the hospital wing.  It's proving resistant to the usual remedies, but that's no surprise as Hobbart is Muggleborn.  These Muggle strains of the cold and 'flu viruses are much harder to stamp out with the usual potions.  We need to be on the alert and prepare ourselves for the possibility of quite a number of patients shortly."

"I've prepared a potion which should be administered to everyone in the school, Headmaster," Professor Snape said.  "It may help to stave off infection to some degree, although there are no guarantees."

"You have my authority to set up a programme to administer it, Severus," Dumbledore said with a nod of acknowledgement.

"We'll need to check each pupil's records for allergies," Madam Pomfrey cautioned.

"Of course.  If you and Severus will liase?  And please be sure to include the staff.  It would never do to inoculate the pupils and have the entire teaching complement in the hospital wing instead."  Dumbledore smiled faintly.  "Is there anything else you need to discuss with us, Poppy?"

"Yes, Headmaster."  Madam Pomfrey hesitated for a moment, looking rather grim.  "Mr. Potter."

"Ah yes.  How is he?"

"He's recovering quite well, fortunately, but I'm keeping him in the hospital wing for the time being to ensure the dehydration has been properly treated and that he gets some rest.  However, in the light of the potential influenza problem I feel we need to discuss his situation."

"He will be quite vulnerable to any new infections, I would imagine," Professor Snape remarked.

"Even more vulnerable than before, I'm afraid," Madam Pomfrey said.  "I've been running some tests on him and his immune system is severely depressed.  As a precaution I isolated him as soon as the 'flu cases started to arrive, but it's going to be impossible to shield him effectively, Headmaster, and if he returns to his dormitory the danger will certainly be worse."

"How serious is the threat to his health?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"High," Madam Pomfrey said frankly.  "I consulted with his own healer, Nicholas Pinker, and we are in agreement - it's no exaggeration to say that a bout of influenza could kill him at present."

"I see," Professor Dumbledore said after a moment.  "I know that Harry has been struggling for the last few months and his health has certainly not returned in the way we all hoped it would."

"He's falling behind," Professor McGonagall said.  "I don't think anyone can fault the effort he's putting in, but his physical strength simply isn't up to a lot of the practical work and every time he's laid low with a sniffle he loses ground on the book work as well.  I've been meaning to speak to Severus about it for a week or two now.  I know the boy wants to sit his examinations in September, but I think it's time to admit that this isn't going to be possible and plan accordingly.  The sooner he knows where he stands, the better."

Dumbledore looked at Snape.  "Severus?"

"Agreed," Snape said shortly.  "I've thought for some time that Potter shouldn't be here.  He's not fit enough and the timetable he's working to benefits no one if, in the end, he fails in any case."

"Then you all feel that Harry should be sent home?"  Dumbledore looked at the three of them in turn.

"For the time being," Professor McGonagall said reluctantly.

"For his own safety, and to regain any lost ground in his health," Madam Pomfrey agreed.

Snape only nodded curtly.

"He'll be very unhappy about it, but I must reluctantly agree with you all," the Headmaster said heavily.  "I shall contact Sirius Black, in that case."

 

xXx

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands and chin resting on the brass handle of his cane, staring morosely into space, when Remus walked into the little isolation room.  He was paler and thinner than he had been when he first returned to school, which was worrying, and had deep shadows under his eyes.

"Hey," Remus said quietly, and Harry looked up with a start.  He looked thoroughly fed up.

"It's not the end of the world," Remus told him gently, squatting down beside him.  Harry's fingers tightened on the cane and he shook his head slightly.  "It really isn't, Harry.  It's a setback, that's all."

"It means he wins," Harry said in a small, tight voice.  He didn't need to clarify who "he" was.

"It doesn't," Remus said more forcefully.  "Harry, he already lost!  He's _dead_ and you're not.  After that, _everything_ you achieve is another victory."

"And what have I achieved so far?" Harry demanded bitterly.  "I'd have done everyone a favour by not coming back in February, because I'm right back where I started.  It's been a total waste of time."

"Three months' worth of study is a waste of time?"  Remus raised his brows.

"More like a month and a bit, with me flat on my back for the rest of it."

Remus reflected that it was just as well that Sirius had waited with Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall.  He wasn't good at dealing with Harry when the teenager was in this kind of mood.

"Call it that, then, but I still don't think it's time wasted.  You wouldn't have done any of that work at home, and you've been able to catch up with everyone here and spend time with other people besides me and Sirius."  Remus paused.  "Besides, you've been telling us in your letters that you think you're falling behind too often, so that part of it can't be a surprise.  Why are you letting it get you down like this now?  You're going to take a break to get yourself back into shape, then try again.  Aren't you?"

"I won't be coming back here, though, will I?"

Remus hesitated, considering Harry.  It was quite feasible for him to repeat his seventh year, but it wasn't commonplace to do so and it was unlikely to be a comfortable experience for Harry to have to repeat a year with the class currently below him.  Few if any of his friends would be at school by that point and although Remus didn't know much about the social structure of Slytherin, he could imagine that Harry's image among his peers might take a knocking, whether it was justified or not, especially as he was no longer able to bolster his reputation through playing Quidditch.

"I don't know," he said finally.  "I suppose that's up to you, but Hogwarts doesn't have to be your only route to finishing your education.  We can discuss it with Dumbledore when you're feeling a bit stronger, perhaps, but you do have options."

"Yeah," Harry muttered bleakly.

"Come on, then.  Let's go and round up Sirius before he and Severus break down and strangle each other in front of the whole school."

The joke barely raised a tired lift of the lips from Harry, but fortunately Blaise Zabini appeared in the doorway then, his fingers still smoking from the disinfectant potion Madam Pomfrey made every visitor to the hospital wing use, and Harry pulled himself together enough to keep face in front of the other boy.

"Ready to go, then?" Blaise asked.  Remus noted the rather resigned look on his face; apparently Harry was going to be missed more than he would admit.

"Looks like it."  Harry dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane.  "I forgot to ask - could you do me a favour and get Haggerley to put Phoebe in her travelling box for me?"

A tiny grin lit Blaise's face for a moment.  "Already done.  You don't think anyone else wants to sleep with your spider, do you?"

Remus smiled.  "There's a corner of the pantry at home where I think she'll be comfortable and do some good."

"Right.  Thanks."  Harry looked very tired all of a sudden.  "Better move, then, before I fall over."

They slowly proceeded out of the room, via a rear corridor that bypassed the main ward of the hospital wing, and down a set of spiral stairs which Harry had to take one at a time.  It was just past midday, the lunch-bell having rung a few minutes before Remus arrived, and the corridors were empty by the time they reached the second floor corridor leading to the central staircases down to the Great Hall and Entrance Hall. 

Harry followed Blaise out onto the landing, and stopped. 

"A few people want to see you off," Blaise commented.

The stairs and landing were lined with people.  The majority were Slytherins, but there were a few pupils from other houses too.  Remus was close enough to see Harry's breathing speed up as he fought to keep his face still; his knuckles were almost white where he gripped the handle of his cane.

"Easy," Remus said softly.

"I'm all right."  Harry set off again.

If nothing else, it was a small education for Remus in the manners and deportment of Slytherins.  They didn't make a fuss.  Other house members would occasionally step forward to offer a hand to shake and say goodbye; from his own Harry received only solemn acknowledgements, a nod of the head, a murmur of his name, the occasional formal bow from First Family boys and girls.  Remus got the odd and rather touching impression that they understood Harry's frailty and didn't want to hamper his progress, which seemed at odds with the dog-eat-dog reputation of Slytherins generally - but Harry himself was a living testimony that Slytherins, as much as any of the houses, came in all shapes, sizes and flavours.

In the Entrance Hall, by the doors, Sirius stood with the Headmaster and a handful of the professors, including Snape.  Madam Pomfrey was there, looking rather forbidding (presumably because of the risk of germs being transmitted to her patient), and Harry's closer friends - inasmuch as he would admit to having friends at all - were waiting there too; Hermione Granger, Anthony Goldstein, a few pupils from Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and standing slightly apart from them another handful of Slytherins headed by the daunting figure of Millicent Bulstrode.

No Ron Weasley.  Remus hoped he was waiting outside, which seemed likely as he rather doubted either of the boys would want too many witnesses to their particular goodbyes.

Hermione was first in line and Remus watched the two of them eyeing each other with a tickle of amusement.  If Hermione had one great saving grace, one trait that prevented her being annoying and priggish beyond endurance, it was her generosity and sense of humour, and Remus could see the corner of her mouth switching with a teasing smile even as Harry glowered at her from a safe distance.

"Don't go all girly on me, Granger."

She rolled her eyes.  "Heaven forbid!  Come here a minute - "

He evaded her outstretched hand and Remus saw his expression turn sardonic.  "If you're that desperate to get your mitts on me, why didn't you say something sooner, when I was feeling more up for it?"

"But I thought your dance card was full already?  That's what all the rumours say," she shot back.

"Yeah.  All the rumours about me are true, by the way."

"I'll never look at the Giant Squid in the same way again."

"It's the tentacles," Harry explained.

"I'll bet."  Hermione smiled and made a quick grab for him, kissing him on the cheek.  "I'm not going to say goodbye, Harry, because I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

"I'll look forward to it," Harry said dryly.

"You tell such shocking lies."

That made him grin at her and he turned to Tony, holding out his hand.  Tony snorted and used it to pull Harry into a hug.  He said something into Harry's right ear that Remus didn't quite catch but which made Blaise blink and turn red.  Harry looked a little nonplussed too.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, eyeing Tony with an expression that said he couldn't decide whether to laugh or be horrified. Tony's grin was wicked.

Harry turned to the rest of the Slytherins, bowing to some of them formally and submitting his hand for wringing by Millicent.  Then two Ravenclaw girls stepped forward, one of whom Remus recognised at once as Luna Lovegood, daughter of the editor of the notorious _The Quibbler_ magazine.  She smiled dreamily at Harry and hung a leather lace with a large yellow claw on it around his neck.

"It's my lucky manticore claw," she explained to him in her faraway voice.  "I had it with me last summer when I fell out of the apple tree and broke my arm."

Remus made a mental note to confiscate it as soon as possible.

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said, apparently with complete sincerity.  She patted his shoulder.

The other girl had long, honey-blonde hair and was very pretty.  Remus's memory of his pupils from four years previously was not as good as he would have liked, and teenagers changed rapidly in any case, but it didn't take a great leap of imagination to guess that this was Harry's ex-girlfriend, Amy Snodgrass.  Remus was amused to see a spate of eye-rolling from Tony, Blaise and Hermione when she hugged Harry and kissed him - more amusing still was that Harry didn't seem to mind this treatment one bit.

After that he shook hands with Neville Longbottom and a couple of people from Hufflepuff, and exchanged nods with a couple of other Gryffindors.  Then he turned and made his way slowly over to the professors.

"Farewell, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick said, clasping Harry's hand kindly.  "As soon as you feel well enough to continue with your Animation work you must let me know.  I've added your name to the Brotherhood's owling list, so you'll start getting our newsletter and circulars, which I feel sure you'll find very interesting."

"Thank you, Sir."

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall told him sternly.  "If you think you're going to be the first Potter to fail his NEWTs, you can think again!  I know one or two retired colleagues who will be happy to tutor you at home if necessary."

"That's not a bad idea," Sirius remarked.  He gave Harry a quick grin, although his eyes ran over the boy's thin figure in concern.  "Ready to be off, then?"

Remus half-expected a sparky remark from Harry in response to this, but apparently he had used up all his energy and his tone was instead rather subdued.

"Yeah, I reckon so."

Professor Dumbledore had stepped outside and was talking quietly to Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey on the  steps, so Harry turned finally to Professor Snape who was standing like a disapproving obsidian pillar to one side and rigidly ignoring Sirius.

"Well ... goodbye, Professor."

Snape's voice dripped acid.  "Oh, do stop dragging around and making such a melodramatic fuss, Potter!  The school is hardly going to fall into ruination merely because The Boy Who Lived is departing its hallowed portals a few months early."

Sirius bristled alarmingly at this, but Remus was glad that in that moment that he was watching Snape's face.  For one brief second he saw Harry look up at Snape and their eyes met - and something in the older man's face lost an edge of the bitter sneer.  It was the merest flash of understanding between the prickly and antisocial Potions Master who had lost an arm and the equally prickly and defensive teenager who was forced to walk with a cane.  Not sympathy; only understanding.  Then it was gone and Harry was bowing formally to Snape, who acknowledged the tribute with a curt nod. 

"I expect you to continue your studies at the first opportunity."  Snape's voice was harsh.  "No backsliding or evasion of the work will be tolerated, do you understand?  I will not be held responsible by the imbecile public for your lack of success in Potions, Potter, if I have to Floo every evening to that flea ridden heap your godfather calls a home and tutor you myself."

"Oh, do take your snotty attitude and stuff it up your - " Sirius began, but Remus cleared his throat warningly, silencing him.

Harry turned to Blaise, who was still hovering.  Their eyes met for a long moment, overt regret in Blaise's and sombreness in Harry's.  Then Harry asked Sirius to hold his cane for a moment.  They were still in full view of all the watching Slytherins, which undoubtedly explained what Harry did next.  He reached out to hold Blaise's shoulders and kissed him formally on each cheek; then they hugged, one of those curiously rehearsed and masculine embraces that Remus had witnessed Sirius and James Potter perform on important occasions.  An odd sort of stir went through the watching Slytherins and Professor Snape lifted his chin slightly, regarding the two boys thoughtfully for a moment before turning deliberately to look at the gathered members of his house.

Remus understood.  Power had just been passed from one hand to another; Harry had formally relinquished his leadership of Slytherin to Blaise.

Then Harry was stepping back and taking his cane from Sirius, and Blaise was saying something about seeing Harry in the summer if not before.  Harry nodded, but he was starting to get a pinched look of exhaustion around his mouth and eyes.  He and Blaise bowed to each other - Remus found all the stilted, First Family formalities a strange thing in a youth who professed not to think much of them - and the party finally made its way out of the doors and into the late spring sunshine.

 

xXx

 

For such a beautiful sunny day, Harry reflected that it seemed remarkably chilly.  He felt the cold more these days and was grateful for the thick, winter-weight robe he had retained.  He felt like an old man being sent home to die, though, and in some part of his mind recognised that the 'flu bug running through the school was probably less of a threat to him right now than his own depression.

Madam Pomfrey was standing at the top of the steps and her sharp eyes scanned him briskly before she gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. 

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Potter," she said briskly.  "Get plenty of rest; that's the ticket, you'll see.  Some setbacks were inevitable, but I expect to hear better things of you by the end of the summer!"

"Nick Pinker'll sort him out," Sirius said cheerfully.

"Indeed!" Madam Pomfrey said, smiling.  "I wouldn't want to be you, Potter, if you don't get better.  Nicholas Pinker wouldn't stand for any of that nonsense from your grandfather, so what makes you think you can get away with it?"

Harry cringed inside at the school nurse's hearty idea of humour, but managed a weak smile as he said goodbye to her.  He slowly descended the shallow steps.  Dumbledore stood a few feet away with Hagrid, who was briskly blowing his nose into a checked handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.  Behind them was Sirius's preposterous portkey-coach - a relic of his grandfather, pressed back into use in the New Year when they'd all made a brief visit to the ball at Hogwarts - and to one side, leaning against one of the castle's massive stone buttresses, was a tall, lanky figure with red hair.

Harry relaxed very slightly.  For a moment he'd thought ….

He turned his attention back to the others and handed his cane to Sirius again before stepping into Hagrid's massive and overpowering hug.  Hagrid sniffed and cleared his throat a couple of times.

"There now!" he rumbled eventually.  "Never you mind, Harry, eh?  Never you mind.  Bit o' rest and you'll be back to yoursel' in no time, you see."

Why this should make the tears prick his eyes, Harry didn't know.  But Hagrid had been his first friend in the magical world and Hagrid, more than anyone or anything else, represented all the good things about that world for Harry.

"You'll come and visit, yeah?" he muttered.

"Be right glad to," Hagrid assured him. 

"All right then."

Harry extricated himself from Hagrid's moleskin overcoat and took his cane back from Sirius.  He was starting to feel shaky, and wasn't sure if this was due to genuine physical weakness or emotion.  He turned quickly to Professor Dumbledore, who was regarding him with a gentle, kindly smile.

"Goodbye, Sir - "

"Oh no," Dumbledore interrupted him firmly, and he took Harry's outstretched right hand in both of his, clasping it firmly.  "I hold it to be a poor thing for two friends to say goodbye.  We shall meet again very soon, I'm sure, and Hogwarts will always be here for you."  He paused, his pale blue eyes searching Harry's face, before smiling again a little.  "Do you remember once telling a mutual friend of ours that Hogwarts is your home?" 

Harry flushed a little at this, for while it was true that there had been times, even quite recently, when that had felt quite far from being the case, there was still an element of truth in the statement.  After all, he'd spent more time in this castle than he had almost anywhere else in his life, barring the little cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive.  And there was no comparing Hogwarts to Privet Drive.

"Hogwarts remains a home to everyone who passes through its doors," Dumbledore said, "but a man such as yourself, Harry, will never lack for places and people to call home, if you will only bring yourself to reach out and touch them."  He squeezed Harry's hand gently and released it.  "Speaking of which, I believe Mr. Weasley has been waiting most patiently for you.  We will speak again very soon, dear boy.  Take care of yourself."

It took Harry a long time to cross the expanse of gravel between the two of them.  Ron waited for him by the buttress, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, when he finally got there.

Ron smiled faintly.  "Hey."

"It looks like I'm going, then."

Ron nodded.  "Looks that way, doesn't it?"

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"I don't want to go," Harry said, and he bit his lip.

"Come here, you berk …."  Ron reached out and pulled him into a crushing hug, heedless of Harry's cane which was jabbing him in the back a little.  "You've got to go, you know that," he said into Harry's ear after a moment.  "You don't need a bloody 'flu bug finishing you off.  You tried, okay?  You gave it a bloody good try and it's not your fault it didn't work out.  But you're going to get better - better than before, even - and then you can start again.  Right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, swallowing.  "If I don't die first."

"Bollocks to that!" Ron said fiercely, giving him a little shake.  "You die on me, Potter, and I'll kick your arse from here to Australia and back!"

Harry had to laugh, although it was a bit wobbly.  "Don't do that, mate, I can hardly stand up straight already!"

Ron snorted, dismissing this.  "Nobody's dying, got that?"

"Got it."

"And you're not going to drag around like a miserable old man for a couple of months.  I'm going to visit you some weekends if I can, okay?"

"You won't have time," Harry said, but he was warmed by Ron's words.

"I'll make time, prat.  Stop making excuses to be a drip."

"I love you too," Harry told him, beginning to smile.

A grin lit up Ron's face.  "You can keep telling me that if you like."

"I love you and I'm going to miss you like hell."

"Me too, mate, but I'd rather you were a hundred miles away and alive than catching something deadly here."  Ron's expression sobered for a moment.  "It's only a matter of time before some clown catches dragonpox and spreads it around the school.  You don't need that."

Harry was inclined to agree on this point.  So far he'd only heard of dragonpox anecdotally, and that was as close as he wanted to get to it if the list of symptoms people reeled off was true.

"Well ... I'd better go then," he said reluctantly.

"Yeah.  Come on." 

Ron slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and they walked slowly over to the coach, where Sirius, Remus and Professor Dumbledore waited.  Harry's trunk was already strapped firmly into the carrying rack at the rear, and the door was open and steps lowered.

Sirius was looking at his pocket-watch, but he snapped it shut and smiled as they approached.  "Ready to go?"

"Yeah - sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up," Harry replied.

"No, it's all right.  I've got a patriarchal visit to Narcissa and the baby later, that's all, and she already complains about everything under the sun so I don't want to be late and give her an excuse."

Harry frowned.  "So don't make an excuse.  Just be late.  It's none of her business what you do with your time."

Ron snorted a laugh and Remus grinned at his partner. 

"I told you Harry would say that!"

"Better still," Harry continued, "if she's going to be mouthy about it, just tell her she got the time wrong.  Probably easier."

"I met your great-great-grandfather once, when I was a young man," Professor Dumbledore told Harry.  "Raphael Potter.  He was rather well-known for his independent views on life."

Harry looked at him curiously.  "Was he?"

Dumbledore smiled gently.  "I was being euphemistic, dear boy.  On the occasion in question, Raphael was rather late for an important Wizengamot session.  When the Chief Warlock of the day - Darius Pettifer, I believe - admonished him, Raphael replied that he was not, in fact, late at all and it was hardly his fault if everyone else chose to be unreasonably early.  Given that his temper was somewhat, shall we say, cantankerous and unpredictable in his latter years, the assembly chose not to challenge him on the matter.  Indeed," Dumbledore mused, "I believe the minutes of the session to have been altered in order to reflect the time he insisted it to be."

"Good for him," Harry approved.  He gave Dumbledore an interested look.  "How was he cantankerous and unpredictable?"

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles.  "If you need to ask, my boy, then you are less like him than I first thought!"

"I reckon he just said what he really thought," Harry said.  "People always seem to have a problem with that."

"A number of your ancestors were notable diplomats, including your grandfather," Dumbledore replied, smiling, "but Raphael was _not_ one of them."

"That'll be me too, when I'm an old man," Harry remarked, rather pleased with the notion.

"We're saying nothing," Remus said, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Into the coach with you, wretch," Sirius told Harry, deeply amused.

"Yeah, yeah, mustn't keep _Mrs. Malfoy_ waiting, must we ...."

"I'll owl you later, mate," Ron said, grinning.  "You take it easy, okay?"

Harry snorted.  "Do I ever do anything else these days?"

The moment of levity passed as soon as he settled into the absurdly plush upholstery of the coach and watched Sirius securing the door.  There was a pause as the two of them looked at him and Harry stared back.

"Okay?" Remus asked him finally.

"What do I do now?" Harry asked.

"Come home with us," Sirius said promptly.  "Rest.  Get well again."

"Then have another go at finishing your NEWTs," Remus added.  "But forget about that part for now.  Start with the resting."

"I reckon I can manage that," Harry said rather glumly.

"Every journey starts with a single step," Sirius said gravely.  "And just to prove it, I'll let you pull the portkey lever."

 

 **\- The End -**


End file.
